


Time Fuckery

by wintersnight



Series: Fracture Verse and other things [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Drabble, Time Travel, asks from tumblr, be warned, creepy Tim/Ra's, past and future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight
Summary: Anon said:Hey! I just want to start off with saying that you are one of all time my favorite writers ever. I know you are already busy with life and all your other stories, but whenever you have time, can you possibly do this prompt: Dick/Tim with one of them time traveling to the past or future. Possibly with Tim pissed at Dick. Thank you for everything!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much what came of it. Probably somewhere in the first few chapters of Fracture when Tim is still really fucking angry at Dick and just wants them to leave him the fuck alone.

And just _really_. It’s the universe against him (naturally) when proving the extents of his ability to be an _asshat_ , N decided to pretty much shove them _both_ into the whirling vortex rather than let Red just _handle_ shit the way he usually does—with a plan.

Had N stopped for a few seconds and let him do what he needed to do, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Sure, he might have another bullet scar, but at this juncture of the vigilante game, what does it even _matter_?

It’s not like Dick really gives a shit anyway. It’s been a _long time_ since he rode the _little brother_ train; really, he gets where his place was, had _always been_. He didn’t need it spelled out any clearer than that; the last two years were enough evidence.

“Where the _hell_ are we, Red?” And N’s usual sounds like broken glass anyway, it’s just that much harder with _irritation_.

Red, however, has very little _fucking patience_ for it, and wisely remains silent while he keeps moving, eyeing the network of caverns that are terribly, painfully familiar.

To make shit even _better_, Dick is trying to do _whatever in the hell this is_—you know, the creepy following, trying to _help_ or banter like they used to when he was part of the family (but was he ever _really?_).

Well, it’s two years too late for whatever Dick is trying to do (_unnecessarily_, he’s their intel guy, their _soldier,_ what the fuck _else_ do they _want?_).

Too

Fucking

** _Late_ **

Ironically, even here in the past, the _him_ of this time is still heartsick at losing Robin, at the realization that Jason Todd was always _right_ about being the stand-in; likewise, he hadn’t been able to escape Dick Grayson. The year he’d been gone, looking for evidence Bruce was alive, he’d travelled all over hell and creation with Dick’s offhanded tone in a running monologue—that little _conversation_ about equals and taking the last piece of his identity like it was _nothing_—

Red pauses just long enough to swallow even with the lump suddenly in his throat because he _knows_ what’s next, and starts climbing up into the poorly hidden vent shafts clearly still in his memory.

The whole place is going to be very, very _busy_ in the next few minutes if he’s right about the _when_ as well as the where.

The hand on his bicep triggers his base instincts, and Red just _moves_ with it, gripping N’s wrist and twisting the taller man around his body. Had it been any other night, any other person, N would have attempted to counter the move. As is, since he and B have finally agreed on Plan: Get Timmy back to the Bats, he just moves with it, allows himself to be shoved up against the cavern wall by the lost son with a gauntlet pressing into his neck.

“_Where_ are _we_?” He repeats, looking down at the young man that used to be a kid, a kid that considered him a brother (and how long it had been, how _far_ Tim had gotten away from them and he hadn’t even _noticed_).

“Iraq,” Red replies shortly, the white outs keeping his eyes hidden, “the League of Assassins Cradle before I blew it up, so time is not on our side—literally.”

Red goes back to the vent, not waiting to see if N decides to follow. He’s got enough to do, re-programming the time disc to return them while staying the _hell_ out of the way of himself, Tam, Ra’s, and well, damn near _everyone_.

Behind him, the vent is quietly put back and the small sighs of Kevlar and leather is N apparently taking him at his word. Well, he gets vigilante points for _good move_.

And Red gets just far enough for the vent to get large enough to circulate air in the big room, the room where the Counsel of Spiders are surrounding the past _him_.

It’s going to be time soon; Red pulls the disc and starts working, ignoring N sliding up beside him, looking out into the large room from behind the grate.

“Tim, what the hell is this?” And that’s Dick asking.

“What I had to do,” is the answer, the only one Red really has to _give_. He fumbles slightly when the fight begins, only a casual glance when he called out to Tam.

His mental countdown to _boom_ is going double-time.

“Oh my God,” is N’s short observation. “That’s the Counsel of _Spiders_, Tim.”

“I’m aware.”

“_This_ is where you were that whole time?”

“No.”

Almost—maybe, _shit_. He doesn’t have the needed pieces to verify the next jump time. _Fuck, time…_

“Timmy, _c’mon_. It’s me here, _talk _to me. I have almost no idea what happened to you during that year.”

He pauses, noticeably, because _no, Dick, you _**_don’t_**_ know_. _All this time and no one asked—_

“Tim?”

_Isn’t this why things turned out the way they did?_

“I was trying to prove I wasn’t crazy,” he comes back shortly.

Only a twitch, enough for him to know N caught that little barb. “Tim, I know things were bad back then, and I—“

“Trying to get this thing fixed before we blow up, Nightwing, do you mind?” Red goes back to it, only giving a glance to where his past self is dodging a whole lot of incoming_ death_.

“You’re the king of multitasking,” N comes back sharply, goes back to watching the fight of Red life.

“Time/Space fuckery is not an exact science,” Red grinds out between his clenched teeth.

“I’m _saying_ I have a lot of regrets, okay?”

“_I’m_ saying we’re going to die down here if you don’t let me work.”

_Ah! Not perfect but it’s going to have to do for now_.

And the fight is moving further into the installation, down where he’d told Tam to run. They have a small window to do this without his past self or anyone else seeing them.

Red reaches back, punched the vent out and shoves himself through, leaving N to follow behind him. He completely tunes out anything N might be saying as he hits the keys and the disc lights up, warming before the swirling vortex is projected, the rift in time open and glowing lazily.

_In the nick of time_, Red breathes but hands grip him tightly, tight enough that he can feel it through the suit, and N is turning him, staring down from behind his own whiteouts.

“Tim, what happens?”

“For fuck’s sake, N. You suddenly give a shit or something?”

N opens his mouth to retort, but the explosion begin down the hallway, a wall of fire coming right at them.

“Fuck!” Red grips N’s gauntlet and throws them both through the portal as the fire nips right at their asses.

**

Neither of them puke, but it’s not for lack of trying.

Really, space\time travel is murder on the equilibrium.

They finally hit the other side of the open portal, tumbling out to land hard on a rocky ground, darkness on all sides. N pretty much lands on top of him, crushing the harness deeper into his chest and laying in the cradle of his body just a little too _close_ for comfort.

“I _hate_ time travel,” is N’s voice muffled in the side of his neck, breath making him distinctly _uncomfortable_.

Red doesn’t bother replying, just uses an arm to push N off him to quickly get to his feet, try to see where the hell they’ve ended up.

_Another_ underground cavern.

Fucking spectacular.

Even _better_, since this one has a few random torches, a large workstation, desk chair, mini-chem lab set-up, and _oh em gee_, a huge body of recognizable green liquid. You know, just a Lazarus Pit in the corner.

Red groans, peering up just a little over the rock outcropping they’d managed to land behind (since _winning_), and he draws in a hard breath (because it should be just a Wednesday kind of thing; a past/semi-present/future him foiling another one of Ra’s schemes, but from the looks of things, it’s very, _very_ not).

Ra’s has a firm hold on this _him_. The Tim Drake of the current timeline is bare faced, securely tied and gagged, only in the body suit under his outer armor. Ra’s has one hand in his hair, jerking his head back, talking while forcing him to walk closer and closer to the Pit.

“—You cannot yet _see_, Detective. What we will be able to accomplish, _together_, will change the world. It could be in our image, with our intentions, our wills.” Ra’s pauses long enough to pull that Tim’s head back even more, jerking his neck in a painful position. From Red’s vantage point, he can see his future self breathing hard, eyes narrow and calculating; the two are close enough that Red can hear the words spoken against his other self’s neck.

“We can be the saviors of this world, Timothy. It will be _our_ world as soon as you agree to be my heir, _mine_—“ and _no,_ that is _not_ Ra’s tongue licking up his throat like that, just _ew, ew, ick, gross_.

His future self shudders with the same disgust welling up in Red’s gut while Ra’s free hand finds purchase on his hip over the body suit. Red manages to keep himself from intervening when Ra’s hand slides over his hip, travels closer to his—

“Oh my _God_,” N’s chest is pressing against his back, the eldest Robin staring over his shoulder at the scene before them. Just by the looks of it, his horrified tone is probably pretty apt right now.

“Has this happened? _Did he already do this to you?”_ N demands harshly through gritted teeth.

Red’s jaw clenches, watching himself get red in the face, his body jerking to get away from Ra’s hands on him. The immortal just yanks him back, slides the seeking hand up around his chest instead, his grip tightening enough to make his future self grunt wth pain through the gag.

“No,” Red answers hoarsely, quietly. Just fun things to look forward to apparently.

“Why the fuck is he touching you like that,” N hisses close to his ear. “Has he done something like this before?!”

Red bites into his lower lip at the rage coming over Ra’s face at the continued defiance, his future counterpart’s eyes just as angry.

“Still you fight me, Timothy, you fight what is inevitable. You will be mine as you have been all these years running from me, playing these _games_. I have indulged, _played_ long enough.”

Red pulls the disc up again, working faster to pull the thing apart while N’s gloved hand is unconsciously on his bicep, and the older vigilante is literally vibrating with rage against him.

“This is creeping me out too, just don’t—“ Red barely breathes, “don’t _look_.”

N leans down enough to put his mouth right by Red’s ear, “I’m going to kill him for this.”

“Whatever,” Red mutters back, the slim tool from his gauntlet working in the device. The lip service is unnecessary at this point—the only one that would probably give a shit is Dami; you know, purity of the blood lines and all that.

“_However_,” Ra’s goes on, inching them closer, “the _anticipation_ has made this moment all the more sweet, _Detective_. Knowing you will soon be mine alone, knowing that your _family_ will not find you in time—“

Muffled something, a calm something.

“Ah, you believe they will, Timothy?” A soft and twisted laugh, “I have spent weeks keeping you from them. Staying steps ahead of the World’s Greatest Detective and his other protégées to prove I am worthy enough to _keep_ you.”

And _oh God_. Nope, he’s not looking, he’s not looking, but he feels N’s hard gasp against his back; Red lets out a breath through his nose while he works because _c’mon_, give him _something_ here.

The wet sound of Ra’s kissing this other him is really trying to trigger his gag reflex all over again. Space/time fuckery and supervillain tongues, just prime hurl reasons right there.

The other him only tolerates it for less than a minute, pulls back hard against the hands holding him, “they’ll find me,” that Red Robin’s tone is hoarse but strangely firm, like this him really _believes_ (so maybe they’ve hit a multiverse? But the devices is only calibrated for _time_…).

But Ra’s is at that Red’s neck, making a _mark_ with obscene noises.

“You haven’t _won_, Ra’s. Not yet.”

_One more adjustment_.

“Oh, _Beloved_. I do think I _have_.” And Ra’s picks that him up effortlessly, gripping thighs and around his back tight. He begins to wade into the Pit, stepping in to his knees.

“Don’t do this,” the other him growls, “if this makes me insane, I won’t be able to help you for _fuck_.”

Another laugh, low with insinuation. “But you will. Once you come out _reborn_, I will teach, train you, mentor you just as the Bat—“

“All right,” Red finally breathes, closing the devices casing. “Let’s go. Now.”

N presses him down to the rock outcropping just by dropping his weight on Red’s back.

Mouth by his ear again, “we need to see what happens.”

“The fuck we do,” Red whispers back furiously, pushing back with one arm, “you know the rules of time travel.”

“The hell with that. We can make sure _this_ doesn’t happen Timmy,” N growls back, watching Ra’s walk with the water up to his thigh, still talking while that Tim’s face is twisted with half-horror, half-fear.

“It’s obviously _not your fucking problem_,” with real anger, _real anger_, shoves back, knocking N off his back.

“Tim!” N whisper-snaps at him.

Without looking, Red points the device because _he’s not their responsibility anymore_. Stand-in for the _real_ Robin, remember Dick?

But, as much as he _hates_ this, the abrupt noise draws his eyes back to the scene, heart thudding dully against the back of his throat again because it really _would_ be like Ra’s to just drop his ass in and laugh like the standard _insane_ supervillain—

What he doesn’t expect is to see the Red Hood rising out of the Pit’s churning waters like a tower of _I’m going to murder you now_, his standard .45 already at arm’s length to bypass the struggling other him to press right at Ra’s forehead.

Red chokes on a breath to see Jason Todd with water of the Pit sluicing off his body suit.

“Y’ got somethin’ what belongs to _us_, asshole,” is the modified voice coming out of the helmet, making Red’s heart pound hard enough against his ribs to physically _hurt_.

The shadow comes down like a spectre, black and blue blurring as this timeline’s Nightwing swoops out of the cave’s shadows to rip their Tim Drake from Ra’s arms just before the gun goes off and Ra’s body slides down into the darkness to be reborn again.

Gasping, Red turns immediately, ignoring the sudden heat in his eyes behind the whiteout of the cowl (_like that shit would _**_ever_**_ really happen?_). He thumbs the last key, forcing himself not to watch anymore as the portal opens, the same swirling vortex that would take him _back_ to somewhere he knew what the fuck to expect next.

N has a grip of his wrist, not stopping him this time, just moving in a terribly familiar sync with Red’s muscles bunch to jump through, to get _away_.

The Bat actually coming for _him?_ That’s not ever going to be part of the contingencies.

**

The vortex is still just worse than the last concussion (_Fred_), but Red can keep his teeth gritted and eyes open this time, his thoughts churning about the future events he’d seen, his brain trying to puzzle out what kind of choices would have to made for _that_ possibility to happen in his immediate time stream.

The flicker at the edges of his vision, eyes watching, a lithe form also traveling through, a _child_, makes Red double-take hard, almost calling out—

Before he’s slammed into the unforgiving roof top of the Wallstone Apartments.

Like before, N does _not fuck_ to avoid falling right the hell down on top him, crushing him just _that_ much more. A flicker of the eyes to his wrist computer indicate that _yes_ they made it back to the right time and _no_ there is no multiverse capability in the disc.

Which is currently in hundreds of pieces below his abdomen, N’s weight helping to grind the complex mechanism to dust.

Noise half a block down, and their initial starting point, fighting a group of Cadmus rejects, is still going on; N groans above him while the two of them on the other roof dodge the spray of bullets and take a dive into the portal on that end.

“_Fuck_,” Red shoves himself up, giving _no shits_ about sending N off him, getting to his feet with grapple already in hand.

“Wait,” N snarls, gloved hand reaching up to grip his wrist with an unforgiving hold, “we are going to _talk_ about what the _hell_ we just saw—“

Red’s head jerks down in an abrupt move, making N pause in his _big brother_ bullshit monologue.

“Save it for your own people, _Nightwing_,” Red snarls back savagely, “you’ve got plenty of them to keep you busy.” He fires the grapple without bothering to look (because, you know, _skill_) and lets it jerk him out of N’s hold, taking flight to join the original fight and make sure that damn machine is _toast_.

*

After the fight, the Cadmus experiments and their handlers are tied up and the special Gotham Task Force on the way— and Red is already in the wind, leaving N on the roof alone. His thoughts churn with implications, with the reactions, with strategies on how to fix this broken relationship with his _brother_.

But like Alfred told him, he needed to give Tim a _reason_ to come back.

The right reason.

N hides up behind a gargoyle as the Task force takes the baddies into custody, the city saved again. He taps the comm in his ear as the lights and sirens echo into the night.

“B here, go ahead N.”

“I have an idea.” Maybe not a _good_ idea per say.

“I’m listening.”

“For Red. Maybe…maybe we should take R and have some coffee, talk it out.”

The comm is silent while N stands, pulls his own grapple.

“That…could work. R and Hood seems to have a more open line of communication with him.”

“Agreed. We’ve spent a lot of time giving him space. Maybe…maybe it’s time to take the fight to him.”

“You have something there. We’ll talk when the night winds down. See you in the Cave.”

“You got it, boss. N out,” he chirps back, firing the grapple. He doesn’t even take an extra breath, just a few good steps to leap.


	2. Anon wanted a teeny bit more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said:  
_Thank you for taking up the prompt I asked for!!!! The time travel prompt was way more than I could have hoped for. You are amazing and I love that mind of yours. Dick and Tim works well together and it is horrible how little they work together now. Well Dick is working on that. Dick and Tim reactions to Ra's getting a bit too close to Tim for their liking; Precious!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you liked it, have just a little more and ah, sincerely, thank-you for the love.

The Red Hood sloshes through the Lazarus Pit, two .45s at his side. They didn’t have much time until the Cavern is overrun with the League of Assassins and a reborn Ra’s al Ghul when he rises. So, it’s time to get with the _ready to fight_, yeah?

But you gotta have priorities in the vigilante gig. So’s, make sure their bird ain’t ten _kinds_ of messed up before getting on with the _bang, bang_.

Big Wing already has Timmy untied, one hand on his jaw to tilt his face up, gripping him by the arm since _fuck yes, _they were worried as _shit_. **Been** worried. Pissed _and_ worried, which ain’t been a good combination for the baddies on the trail they been on trying to find out where and what the hell had happened.

Once they got everything pieced together, found out Baby Bird gave himself up trying to keep a fuck _ton _of people safe and left them _completely in the dark_, well, Gotham General is full. So is Black Gate.

“Red,” Hood growls, unlatching the helmet, “you got some _fucking explaining_ to do when we’re outta here, _you feel me here?_”

And Tim blinks, breathes, pupils dilated slightly when he looks up at Jason Todd—those _eyes_ a shade lighter than Dick’s but darker than Bruce’s—and the two of them…after everything he put them through to throw them off— everything he had _done_ to make sure they wouldn’t _want _to follow…

“Jay,” is choked from somewhere deep down, the same place he houses those stupid things, the things he just fucking loves about the both of them.

But Hood breathes out hard and reaches with both hands, pulls Tim hard against the front of his body and just _holds the fuck on_. “Don’t you do that shit again,” is breathed against the younger vigilante’s ear, “and I fucking _mean_ that, whole-heartedly, Baby Bird. You don’t use us, you don’t push us away. You ain’t gonna get _rid of us_ like that.”

Red, shaky, buried in Hood’s tight hold, has less than a second before a hand in his hair pulls his head up and Jason Todd is slanting their mouths together, giving everything he’s got.

And _oh God_, this—

N takes him out of Jason’s arms the minute they draw back. Kevlar, leather, and musk; gloved hands on his face because Dick always _leaps_, and Red is well _aware_ he’s making noises, gripping Dick’s hips for purchase because _this is happening_.

_Welcome  
Home_

N pulls back. “We are having a _day_ when we’re out of this. A whole _day_, Timmy. We’re chewing you out for this mess and figuring out what the three of us are going to be to each other. _Then_,” and N’s voice drops, their mouths just a breath away, “we’re going to keep you in bed until you learn your lesson.”

Finally, his brain boots back on (because, _really_, a few weeks of being kidnapped and then creepily molested by Ra’s? Totally justification for needed only about a _minute_ to process), and Red huffs a laugh while Dick grins back at him.

“Okay,” is hoarse, but the pressure in his chest is _tight_ and these two…_these two_ didn’t abandon him. They came for him again and (they will from now on, won’t they?)— “I am totally on _that_ train.”

His eyes are heavy, wet, but he lowers his head to Dick’s shoulder and laughs, chokes a little. Jason just presses into his back, being an ass hat and pressing his mouth to the back of Red’s neck to give him just _enough_ to calm down while Dick leans his forehead in and holds on.

“We have four minutes,” he breaks into the moment, “before a lot of assassins will be here to kick our asses.”

“Hm,” Dick hums.

“About that,” Jason drawls out.

“Oh shit,” Red mutters because _what now?_

“B wanted to prove a point to you, that’s all.”

Red raises his head, eyebrow arched at Dick’s grin.

No answers are immediately forthcoming as half the ceiling caves in and the three separate, prepare for the first, second, third, tenth, whatever, wave—

Superman, however, floats down with an arm around B’s waist and the rest of the JLA riding right with them. From the hole, unconscious bodies just tumble down to the floor.

Jason just grins and fits the helmet back on, “the Bat’s got friends too, Baby Bird. Good fucking timing, yeah?”

Red, however, finds himself grinning like an asshole, absurdly, stupidly happy to see all of them invited to the party.

_Welcome Home_.


	3. Third Time Fuckery Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said:  
_I have read a lot of time travel fix it stories, many of them with Tony and him fixing his relationships, particularly with Steve or more recently, ending up with Stephen. I would love to read a time travel fix it story concerning Tim Drake. Particularly Dick/Tim, Jason/Tim, or Dick/Tim/Jason, with either Dick or Jason somehow doing the time traveling. Thank you for your lovely work. You are the one that I keep coming back to Tumblr for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wrote a thing :D

The world is terribly askew, the edges bleeding into white.

_Oh_, he think idly, _that’s what dying feels like_.

Since he’d lost Kon and Bart and Steph and his fucking _dad_, it’s not like he hadn’t wondered.

Getting stabbed by a bad guy named _The Widower_ was really not how he’d pictured himself going out. The name is literally a walking trope, _lame_.

And while he bleeds on the hot, hot sand, the dry air in his gasping chest, wondering where it had all gone so _wrong_ when he was just trying to find Bruce, to save _someone_ after he’d fucking lost it all, he doesn’t realize his eyes are wet under the cowl, or that his cape was a piss poor tourniquet at this stage of the game.

“_Jesus!” _

–might just be out of his brain pan.

“This is what he meant, Jay, oh my God!”

“Gimmie supplies outta yer suit. We gotta stop the bleedin’.”

“You _know_ we can’t. We can’t do anything–!”

“But what the fuck if _we’re_ the reason he lives?!”

“Jay, the _timeline.”_

“Ya wanna just leave ‘im like this?”

But he’s too far gone for any of it to register, to feel the arms under him, lifting and carrying. He’s too far gone to realize the vehical is running over rough terrain, that his glove is off and something sharp is in the back of his hand. 

But it’s like a blink when he sees Pru laying there with her throat seeping, and he fumbles, pulling himself over to make his fingers work well enough to get her scarf and tie it, try to put pressure on the wound. 

His legs are numb but he’s pressing the gas for the truck to lurch forward. An arm is pressed hard against his abdomen where his cape is still wrapped around him, and his brain isn’t working well enough to reason much farther than getting somewhere safe and taking care of their injuries.

…it’s not until years later that he’ll wonder how he’d found himself in the back of that truck miles away from where the fight had originally taken place.

It’s not until years later when Jay and Dick come in from a hard few days away from Gotham, running around with the Outlaws and some baddie with advanced tech, when the two of them sandwich him between them with wet eyes and desperately tight grips. 

The detective in him puts it together with a long-overdue _ah-ha_. But he lets them pull and tear at his clothing, lets them mouth and touch that sensitive patchwork of scars on his abdomen, clings tightly when they make urgent, passionate, overwhelming love to him.

When they’re piled around each other in the afterglow, stroking sweaty skin, and letting their hearts slow, he presses his mouth to the back of their hands reverently. He hold their palms over his heart, to feel their pulses on his chest, lets all three beat together.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the few things that never made it to Ao3, so I hope you enjoy it babes!


End file.
